A Hurricane Conspiracy

By David Beckwith and Nancy Beckwith

In this first Will and Betsy Black adventure, the intrepid couple face Hurricane Clarisse ... and in the aftermath discover the body of one of Will’s colleagues. While the police chalk it up as a storm-related casualty, Will and Betsy aren’t convinced. As fellow Floridians struggle with the natural disaster -- surviving without electricity, taking cold showers, eating canned food and sipping warm drinks -- the Blacks launch their own investigation with the help of their friends. Quickly, evidence of a homicide begins to mount and the number of suspects starts to multiply.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AbsolutelyAmazingEbooks.com
• Release date: Jan 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310504099

Book preview

A

Hurricane

Conspiracy

A Will and Betsy Black Adventure

David and Nancy Beckwith

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING eBOOKS

Published by Whiz Bang LLC, 926 Truman Avenue, Key West, Florida 33040, USA.

A Hurricane Conspiracy copyright © 2010, 2015 by David Beckwith. Electronic compilation/ paperback edition copyright © 2015 by Whiz Bang LLC. Second edition.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized ebook editions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents. How the ebook displays on a given reader is beyond the publisher’s control.

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We dedicate this book to our daughter Aimee (A/K/A Lexie) who has brought endless sunshine to our lives. This book is also dedicated to the exclusive fraternity of hurricane veterans who share our goal to live in a tropical paradise.

A

Hurricane

Conspiracy

CHAPTER 1

It is a dark and stormy night, Will typed into his computer. Indeed it was. A gust of wind hit, rattled the house, and a torrent of rain followed.

Lord, I hope I get this finished and get this e-mail off to Lexie before the power goes out, Will said to his wife, who was squinting to see the storm’s progress out of the one open panel they had left open in the accordion storm shutters.

Betsy frowned as rain hit the window again, You better hurry. This thing is starting to look wicked. Good grief, Will, you should have seen that bottlebrush branch sway just now. They’re saying ten more minutes until Peter comes on again with a storm update. Hope the cable isn’t getting ready to crap out.

I’m hurrying; I’m hurrying. I’m so flustered I keep making typos, Will replied, not bothering to hide his irritation. Man oh man! Do you hear the avocado tree? It sounds like it’s beating itself to death against the house.

Peter’s coming on the air, Betsy added. You’ll want to hear this!

Just keep your drawers on, and let me finish this. I’ll be there in a second.

We’re now feeling the feeder bands as the storm approaches shore. Winds are at fifty miles per hour, gusting to seventy. Most of you should have completed your evacuation; but if you chose to ride out the storm, stay where you are. It’s too late to go anywhere now. Road visibility is extremely limited. All the shelters in the county report they are full. Stay tuned to the National Weather Center for updates.

Peter McCosh, the Indian River County director of emergency management, spoke calmly into the television. Peter McCosh was a big man, not athletic looking, just big. He was six feet four or so but did not fit the stereotype of a network announcer. In his brown polyester short-sleeved shirt, black wingtips and vintage necktie, he looked more like a scientist than a slick salesman with an agenda. His authoritative tone was one the public trusted. Peter’s trademark was his necktie. People had known for years that when Peter removed it, disaster was imminent. As long as the tie was visible, he expected a nonevent.

Peter’s got his tie off. You know what that means? Betsy continued again.

Yeah, I know, I know, Will said. I’m coming. The e-mail to Lexie is out of here.

Will, that last wave really slapped the dock. Do you think the Grady-White is going to be okay on the davits?

If it’s not, it’s too late now. See what other channels are on, Will said in a worried tone.

And now a report has just come into Channel 6 that the county sheriff’s department has arrested two cars of revelers on State Road 60 when they refused to break up a hurricane party that was blocking the highway and preventing people from evacuating. Traffic had backed up for five miles.

Idiots! Can you imagine such stupidity? Will said. Flip over to the Weather Channel.

This is Jim Corrolla, meteorologist for the Weather Channel. I am in the parking lot of the Seahorse Villa, a condominium complex near the Pelican Inlet. Nervousness continues to build as residents here listen and wait. As you can see behind me, some people are still out on the beach, and there’s even a surfer or two. Orchid Island has been evacuated and the bridge to the mainland is being patrolled. Orchid Island residents are being allowed to leave the island, but no one is allowed to return.

Well, Will, I guess we still have time to bail, Betsy said.

We decided we were going to ride it out, Will said. This certainly isn’t our first storm. Remember Amanda? I’m still convinced this house was built to take a cat 3 or 4.

I hope you’re right, Betsy mumbled.

I know I am. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut and keep your head, especially when those around you don’t. Something I’ve learned from my years in the stock market. Maybe we ought to call the Walshes while we still have a phone and see if they decided to stay put.

A sudden gust of wind brought the Norfolk pine almost to the ground. A band of rain pummeled the boat again.

I hope I don’t regret not having that boat trailered, said Will, looking through the Stygian darkness at their boat.

The lights flickered, and the computer went down. Lucy, the fox terrier, jumped into Betsy’s lap and down again. UP! DOWN! UP! DOWN! The avocado tree branches scraped the eave of the house. Lucy bolted and hid under the couch until Betsy finally dragged her out. Lucy jumped back into Betsy’s lap, every bone in her body shivering and rattling. Coco, the family dachshund, whined in sympathy.

The wind howled again. Lightning cut the sky like a saber, and a deafening clap of thunder followed. Lucy jumped straight up.

We probably should have left, Betsy said.

When Will and Betsy still had time to leave, the path of the storm was uncertain – was it going into the Gulf or move up Florida’s east coast? They decided to stay and see the storm through at their house since their daughter Lexie was off at school and there was only the two of them and the dogs to worry about. The only place they had to go was Betsy’s cousin’s house in Naples. Besides they had no place to board the dogs. Public storm shelters did not allow animals.

Maybe you’re right, but we can’t leave now so let’s see what we can learn from the TV while we still have one, Will said.

I’ll fix one last hot, fresh dinner. We could easily be eating out of a can for the next few days, Betsy said. I just know that I’m not going to have any plants left… and the yard was starting to look so good.

It was a dark and stormy night… A perfect night for murder, Will murmured, giving his best Humphrey Bogart imitation.

You’ve been watching too many episodes of ‘Murder She Wrote’, Betsy said. Outside, another blast of wind bent the bottlebrush tree.

CHAPTER 2

Will turned on the stereo while he waited for Betsy to start cooking.

Mile Marker 24’s smooth island, country rhythms could be heard in the background.

We all live on an island

Some call it paradise

The sun almost always shines and the

weather is so very nice

But there’s a price you pay for living by the sea

When the tropical depression becomes a category 3

You know how to pick ‘em, Betsy said.

The power flashed off and on. The digital clock on the microwave started flashing. The stereo reverted to its default setting, AM radio. When the sky lit up, the boat dock seemed to move like it was highlighted by a disco strobe. Once again, Lucy bolted and jumped up on Betsy’s leg, scratching it with her sandpaper-like paws before she started running around the room. A late arrival to this scene would have thought Lucy had been pinched by an invisible force that then began chasing her around the kitchen. Betsy almost dropped the stovetop griddle she had been cooking steaks on.

Ouch! That hurt! Sometimes I hate that dog. Catch her, Will. You know what happens when she gets out of control. She throws up. That’s all we need, Betsy said.

Phone. I’ll get it. It may be Lexie.

It’s probably a cold call, somebody wanting money. We can’t even get away from solicitors while a hurricane is going on, Will said.

When Betsy hung up, she looked at Will and said, You’re not going to believe who that was. Connie Tressler, Dave’s wife. She’s looking for Dave. Seems he hasn’t come home from work.

Funny. I’m pretty sure he was gone by the time I left the office today, Will said.

She also said he’d gone off somewhere with Joe Bowen on his Harley, Betsy continued.

So he went home and left again?

Apparently. I hope he’s all right – not the kind of weather you want to ride a Harley in, Betsy said, shaking her head.

The storm-related news on the radio caught their attention.

Twenty Mile Bend on State Road 60 is starting to flood, hampering last-minute evacuation efforts. The line of cars on State Road 60 is now twenty-three miles long because of the gridlock caused by traffic that cannot make the right-hand turn to get onto the turnpike. Northbound traffic on the turnpike is at a standstill.

Evacuees who make it past the turnpike are facing yet another challenge in Lake Wales. A car containing an elderly couple has blocked State Road 60 for more than an hour. The Ford caught on fire in the middle of the intersection of State Road 60 and Highway 27. Fire trucks have been trying to reach the car. Smoke from the fire has reduced the already limited visibility in this area. Our correspondent on the scene has verified this heartrending story of the couple standing in the rain watching their car burn, their possessions in a pile on the soft shoulder of the road.

We have had our first reported death attributable to Clarice. A woman leaving her home on 43rd Avenue in Vero Beach has backed over her husband in her haste to evacuate.

A report is just in of a couple who have been broadsided attempting to cross an intersection after another motorist waved them through. A third motorist plowed into the passenger side of their car as he attempted to bull his way through the intersection by driving on the shoulder of the road. Police are now looking for this hit-and-run driver.

I’m glad we didn’t evacuate, Will said. I’d rather face Clarice here than be out on the road with all those idiots. I swear some of these damned fools must have gotten their driver’s license at Kmart.

Will, turn off the radio and let’s listen to some music on the stereo, Betsy added.

Will did not respond. Betsy wondered if he was tuning her out, but soon she heard Matt Monro’s mellow voice drifting into the kitchen and had to laugh…

Yesterday

all my troubles seemed so far away

Now it looks as though

they’re here to stay

Oh I believe in yesterday

CHAPTER 3

"Did you feel that gust rattle the hurricane shutters?" Betsy said.

Aren’t you glad we have shutters instead of plywood? Will asked.

Betsy replied, As long as I live I’ll never forget that phone call I got from Bobby before Hurricane Floyd telling me you were stuck at the top of the bridge with plywood scattered from one side of it to the other.

It’s a miracle I didn’t kill somebody that day with plywood flying everywhere, but you know I can’t count the times I had used bungee cords to tie loads of lumber on the top of the van’s luggage rack before and never had a problem. A gust of wind must have gotten up under the plywood just as I got to the top of the bridge. I shudder to think what would have happened if that stuff had hit someone. We’d have been in lawsuits for the rest of our lives. That’s why I swore up and down never, never again. I didn’t care what it cost. We were going to have shutters on this house during the next storm, said Will.

Did you see that bolt of lightning? Betsy asked.

By 9 p.m. Clarice was shrieking. Winds were over 70, gusting to 100. The rain pounded the side of the house. Miraculously, the power had flashed but not gone out altogether. They waited for the calm that would occur when the eye of the storm finally crossed over Vero Beach.

The power blinked again; this time it didn’t come back on.

At times the house was engulfed in darkness only to be momentarily lit up again by a bright blue bolt of lightning, which was followed by an instantaneous slam of thunder. The house shook. Will stepped outside and peered to see the boat dock. The boat was still secure.

Boat looks okay, he announced, the relief showing in his voice.

They looked again and saw a dead blue heron lying near the dock. It looked as if a wild animal had snapped its neck.

I can use some help in the kitchen, Betsy said. You better aim the flashlight at the dining room table so we can see to eat these steaks while they’re hot. And turn on the battery radio. It’s a good thing we both like rare beef since the power just went out. Help me get these potatoes to the table.

As Will came back in the house, the wind whooshed through the opening, fluttering the curtains in the family room. Lucy, who had followed Will outside, rushed through the door, almost tripping him in her haste to get back inside. They both jumped when a limb thumped against the roof several times as the wind rolled it over and over. One of the extra Styrofoam blocks blew out from under the Grady-White and rolled across the yard causing the boat to sway from a sudden gust of wind rocking it on the davits. The wind was driving the rain horizontally. Betsy held up her flashlight to the barometer hanging in the family room. It had fallen more. A white spray showered over the dock. The heron was gone.

As they sat down to dinner, Will said to Betsy, Well, when we were dating, I promised you candlelight dinners. Is a flashlight dinner close enough?

As they ate in silence, Will played with the radio dial. The station was taking call-ins.

They heard the frantic cry of an elderly woman.

I’m sitting at home in the dark. My husband is critical. My power is out, and his respirator won’t work. You’ve got to come here and help me.

You need to call 911. This is WANG radio station, the DJ tried to explain.

No, you need to help us.

M’am, you need to call 911. This is WANG.

We need help! You have to help us! He may die!

M’am, give me your name and address, and I will try to call 911 for you.

You have to help us! And then she hung up.

WANG, the DJ announced as he took the next call.

My power just came back on, but I can’t hear my TV for my damned next door neighbor’s generator, complained the caller loudly.

Sir, do you know how fortunate you are to have power, the DJ began.

Dead air again.

WANG…

I was just calling in to let your listeners know that now is not the time to trim your trees.

The radio DJ lowered his voice and said, Uh…Thanks for the advice, sir.

WANG…

I live over on the beach…on Cyprus Road. We really have a lot of trees down.

Yes, M’am. They are down all over town.

I have some Australian pines that were real pretty…

Yes, M’am, what’s your point? I have callers stacking up.

Well, there’s a motorcycle squashing my ficus hedge.

What kind of motorcycle m’am?

I know nothing about motorcycles except fools usually drive them like maniacs.

M’am, couldn’t it belong to one of your neighbors?

Nobody in this neighborhood has one of those things. We’re all older people with more sense. My question, young man, is if no one shows up to claim it, who does it belong to?

It’s really starting to get crazy out there, Betsy said, cutting a slice of steak. You know, Will, things were so normal on Monday when we first heard about Clarice.

CHAPTER 4

Monday, August 29, had been a utopian summer day. The cloudless sky was a deep, azure blue, the kind of sky that, had you seen it in a painting, you would have sworn it was the product of the artist’s overactive imagination. An occasional breeze gently disturbed the palm trees’ slumber. Gulls and pelicans circled lazily. The pelicans took an occasional calculated dive for fish. Everything for animals, birds, and people seemed to move in slow motion in the late summer heat.

Traffic was light, not a snowbird in sight. Residents could take left-hand turns onto A1A without any delays. Locals didn’t have to plan their trips to Publix since the parking lot was only half full most of the time. Restaurants were running summer specials. These same snowbirds in a few months would be creating lines everywhere as they competed for these same restaurants’ services. Summer was the time of year that full time Floridians loved, the time when they knowingly told one another they had gotten their town back. A myth perpetuated by year-rounders was that it was too hot to be in Florida during the dog days of summer. Full-time residents, however, knew better. They knew the summer weather in Florida wasn’t much hotter than most other parts of the nation. They just didn’t want the rest of the world to know.

This was also the time of year many businessmen closed for their annual in-depth cleaning or for renovation or remodeling or to just plain disappear for a few weeks of rest and relaxation before the beginning of the next winter season two months hence. Making it even easier to rationalize this calculated inertia was the approaching Labor Day weekend. It was hard to imagine anything could disturb this reverie.

The alarm clock had gone off at six thirty sharp that morning. Will stretched, jumped out of bed, let the dogs out, and went out to the front driveway to get the newspaper. Betsy in the meantime plugged in the coffee pot, got down bowls and spoons for cereal, and flipped on the TV.

Will always gave the local newspaper a thorough read as he listened to the early morning television news. Betsy would shower, apply her makeup, and work on her hair with another TV running in the bathroom. Since it was his profession, Will scanned the paper for any news that might affect that day’s securities markets. He was also looking to see what was going on locally or if there were names in the obituaries he recognized. In Florida, it is prudent to never skip the obituaries if you want to be in the know. He would call out to Betsy any stories that might affect either of their jobs. The last thing either of them wanted was to start their week being blindsided by something they should have been aware of.

After Local On The Eights. The Storm Report shows tropical storm Clarice has moved over Anguilla. Its forward speed is five to ten knots, under the steering flow of a subtropical high-pressure ridge. It is continuing west-northwestward. It is moving slowly toward the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. Pressure is 996 millibars. Sustained winds were reported by AFWA in Charlotte Amalie of 53 knots.

Did you hear that, Will? Betsy asked from the bathroom.

Kinda. Something about a tropical storm called Clarice. The news media always tries to make these things seem bigger than they really are. By the way, I was listening to the earnings report on J and J. They beat the street estimates. The stock should have a good day. I’ve got a ton of shares on the books, you know. I bet the analyst will be talking about it on the morning research call.

I hope this doesn’t turn into a hurricane, Betsy said.

Not much chance of that. We’re just talking about a little tropical storm way down in the Caribbean. They have to have something to talk about on the Weather Channel. Look out the window at the sky. It’s drop-dead beautiful. Have you ever seen a more perfect day? I’m going to cut up some strawberries to put on my cereal. You want any? Then I gotta take a shower and get going. After the research call, I’ve got Dot Tuttle coming in to talk about her IRA rollover on her 401K. Did you know she’s thinking about retiring?

I didn’t know she was that old. Don’t cut me any strawberries, Will, Betsy said as she picked up her curling iron. They always have bagels at the bank for our Monday morning meeting. I’ll call you if I hear more about the storm.

Love you, sweet, Will’s said as he tightened his tie, gave Betsy a quick kiss